Suffixes of Use
by ObsidianJade
Summary: Sixteen years after the end of his career, the Hudson Hornet is contemplating his life on the edge of a cliff. He thinks he's useless - until a sheriff turns up to yell at him about causing paperwork. One-shot, no pairings. Minor angst.


**S**: Okay, obligatory notice here that this is, in fact, my first Cars fanfiction. While it is in no way my first fanfiction ever, nor the first story I've written for Cars, it is the first one I've actually gotten off my duff and posted. Be forewarned. (grins)

TIMELINE: Set way pre-Lightening, around 1970 or so, on the assumption that Doc didn't come to Radiator Springs until after the Interstate went in. (Notice that he's not in the 'Our Town' flashback segment?)

Dedication: For LifeShards, although I'm not sure she wanted it.

Disclaimer: Cars is copyrighted material. It's just not copyrighted to me.

Warnings: Angst, brief contemplation of suicide.

SUFFIXES OF USE

The Hudson Hornet sighed. Sitting here, on the edge of a cliff, he could see everything for miles around. The freeway below was only a few years old and already well-worn, the tarmac battered and beaten by the passing of tires. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of tires had beaten the road first into submission, then wear, and now, the very verge of disrepair.

Asphalt wasn't like dirt, he reflected. You couldn't just run a rake over it and have it be as good as new again. You had to tear up everything you'd worked so hard to put down in the first place and start over.

On the whole, he preferred dirt. Which didn't explain why his life was looking more like asphalt at the moment.

Or maybe he preferred dirt _because_ his life was looking like asphalt.

Sighing again, he flicked a Bug off one of his rear-view mirrors and frowned when the silvered glass caught the view of the old hotel behind him.

'_What a sight,'_ he thought to himself. _'Old, abandoned racecar by old, abandoned hotel. So much for our glory days, eh? This is where glory gets us… broken down and useless.' _Angling his mirror so that he couldn't see the Wheel Well, he returned his gaze to the drop-off in front of him. So far down… for the briefest of seconds, he wondered what kind of speeds he would reach if he fell. The greatest race of his career… the race to the final finish.

"Not thinking of driving off, are you?"

The voice startled the Hornet so much that he shot backwards, turning fast enough to send gravel flying. The owner of the unexpected voice sat barely fifty feet from him, his engine sputtering at a low idle, an expression that could only be called sarcastic plastered across his grille.

"What does it matter to you?" Hudson snapped back, fully aware he sounded like a petulant child and only more annoyed because of it.

"Because suicides mean a truckload of paperwork, and they make the town look bad, that's why!" came the equally irritable response.

Hudson couldn't help himself. "There's a _town_?" He'd driven through… something… last night on his way up here, but he'd honestly thought the whole place was deserted.

Then again, at three in the morning, any car with half an ounce of sense would be sound asleep, not looking for washed-up racecars sneaking around with only their parking lights on.

"Jewel of the Mother Road," the Mercury Club Coupe replied, looking suitably dramatic with the sun gleaming on his crisp black-and-white paint. It sounded rehearsed and automatic; Hudson snorted.

"It's a great place to live," the cruiser snapped, more than a bit defensive and not at all rehearsed. "There's a good bunch of folks down there."

"I'm sure," Hudson grumbled, but he rolled a bit closer to the Coupe, cutting his own engine as the other did the same. "You have a name?"

"Everyone around here just calls me Sheriff. You?"

After a moment of consideration, he replied. "Hudson."

"Just Hudson?"

The former racecar paused, hesitant. Almost twenty years had gone by since he'd raced; with a younger car, he might have risked it, but the Coupe was two years his senior at least, so…

"Yeah. Just Hudson."

"Alright, Hudson. You follow me back to town, and if the others like you, you're welcome to stay. Can you do anything useful?"

Hudson grimaced slightly. Over his years at the track and on the road, he'd picked up a few tricks, but nothing that could qualify as an actual profession. Useful? No. He was useless.

Sheriff saw his expression and grunted sympathetically. "Never mind, we'll figure something out. Follow me," he ordered, cranking his engine back over. It coughed twice before settling into a rough idle, and Hudson gave him a speculative glance.

"When was the last time you had your timing checked?"

"Eh?" The Sheriff cast him a confused glance, but his engine half-stalled and he was forced to open his throttle farther to compensate. "What's that?"

"You're choking up; could need a timing adjustment, fuel injector cleaning, or your exhaust manifold may be stuck open," Hudson replied with absentminded patience. "You're probably overdue for an engine service and a good dose of injector cleaner."

The Sheriff stopped short, letting his surging engine lapse back into silence as he stared at the other car.

The silence lingered until Hudson broke it with a slightly bewildered "What?"

"Dang it, why didn't you just _say_ you were a doctor?" Sheriff demanded.

Hudson blinked back at him, surprised. "I'm not a doctor… I just picked up a few tricks along the way."

"Hmph. Field medic?"

"More like… track mechanic," Hudson admitted carefully.

The Sheriff's eyes widened sharply as he suddenly took in the low rumble of the Hornet's powerful engine, the distinct patterns of wear on the chrome, the scars in his paint and body that not even ten trips through the shop had fixed.

"I see," the old Mercury said after a long minute, and Hudson understood that he _did_ see, with crystal clarity.

"I don't want it advertised," Hudson said carefully. "It was a long time ago."

"You'll have to tell me the stories someday," Sheriff said simply, forcing his engine back to idle. "And since we're keeping secrets, the name's Garfield."

Try as he might, Hudson couldn't keep from snickering. "Paul Hudson."

"Nice to meet you, Doc," Sheriff answered cheerfully, shifting to drive. "Now, about that engine service…"

Hudson followed the cruiser back to town, deep in thought. Doctor, huh? Maybe… useful was the right word after all.

END

S: Yeah… my take on it. No, I didn't name Sheriff after the cat; I actually took the name from Teen Titan's Beast Boy, and for Doc, I figured it was only fair for his voice, Paul Newman, to have the honors.

Does anyone else notice that when Lightening goes into Flo's yelling about Doc being a racecar, just after he finds Doc's Piston Cups, that Sheriff seems alarmed rather than confused? It's my theory that he really did know all along…

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